By Koushik Ganesan
I had a garden I realized late,
Lodged in the crevices of my heart,
A deluge of flowers, trees and bugs with a derelict gate;
A flower for every unsaid thought,
A tree for every ill-fated dream I create,
All crawling with bugs of passion my heart begot!
At once, people I hurried to invite,
Into my garden friends and family alike;
Yet, many recoiled at the very sight,
For it was alien for them to behold;
Some plucked the petals,
Some tore the barks,
And some stomped on the bugs,
Most with a bewilderment but few out of spite!
Hence, to my garden, I learned to invite none,
And preferred to take strolls alone,
Or lie on the grass under the sun,
As on a mother's lap lies her son;
I learned to watch the flowers fall and rot,
The bark wither away with despair fraught,
The bugs curl up, stifled and bogged;
Yet I still felt more alive
Than with the visitors to the garden I brought!